


Sick Day

by flippyspoon



Series: Pour Some Sugar on Me [15]
Category: Stranger Things - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, flufferooni
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: Billy is definitely not worried about Steve.





	Sick Day

Billy could tell himself they were “just fucking” all day long but the truth was, Steve was absent on Friday, and Billy had _missed_ him. He’d missed Steve so badly at school it pissed him off but the absence of Steve was like a terrible itch in his head and if he was honest with himself, the absence of Steve was always like that when Billy couldn't get away or finally climbed out Steve’s window late at night leaving Harrington naked and smiling in his sheets. It always stung, but Friday was worse because from the time he woke up in the morning to the time he got out of the Camaro to gaze across the parking lot, he was full of the anticipation of seeing Steve and Steve had been...gone.

After school, Billy waited for Max and as she came skating up to the car he immediately blurted out, “You heard anything about Steve?”

“Steve?” Max looked confused. “No…”

“From the nerd squad or anything? He wasn’t at school today.”

“Haven’t heard,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe he’s sick.”

Of course, that had been Billy’s first thought too, but he knew about monsters and the Upside Down and what the bat was really for and somebody gone from school for a day in Hawkins could be more serious than in other towns.

“Right.” He stubbed his cigarette out.

In the car, Max was smirking. “You’re worried about him.”

“I’m not _worried_. I’m just being practical. What if it’s some Upside Down shit?”

Max knew something was going on between them. She kept teasing him about it and the terrifying part was, it didn’t even make Billy angry, just flustered.

“He’s probably sick,” Max said again. “Go check on him if you’re so worried.”

“I’m not worried! But...I think I will stop by his house. Arcade?”

“Yeah, I can get a ride back,” Max said, and she kept staring at him as he drove and frowned at the road, worrying about Steve Harrington. “You’re _so_ worried.”

“Shut up, Max.”

Billy dropped her at the arcade and then he sped over to Steve’s, pedal to the metal, grimacing around a cigarette. As per usual, he parked a block away, just to be on the safe side, but of course the Harrington cars except for Steve’s BMW were gone from the driveway as he jogged up. Billy tried the doorbell first and after three rings he ran around to the back and climbed up to Steve’s window, which he’d become expert at over the course of the last few months.

Billy was used to tapping on the window, but it was already half-open and he shoved it up and climbed through. He wiped his hands on his jeans, always sooty from climbing up the drainpipe, and got his bearings, about to ask Steve why the window was open and letting in an unseasonably chilly spring wind.

“Steve… Oh shit.”

Steve and his room were a mess.

Steve was curled up on his bed, the blankets mostly on the floor. Billy guessed he’d kicked them off in his sleep and now he was shivering in his t-shirt and sweatpants, the draft from the open window clearly not helping. He looked pale and sweaty, the bed a mess of tissues and magazines, some random looking over-the-counter meds and empty glasses cluttering his nightstand. A little trash bin was tipped over next to a puddle of vomit on the carpet because apparently Steve had missed.

The worst part was that Steve was gripping his bat as he shivered in bed.

“Christ, Harrington. What the fuck…” Billy spun around to shut the window and Steve jerked, opening his googly looking eyes.

“Hmm…” Steve hummed. “No…”

Billy took off his jacket and tossed it on a chair even though the room was cold. “Okay.”

“No…”

Billy stepped over the barf and leaned on the bed, touching his hand to Steve’s forehead. He was burning up but he clearly had chills. 

“First blankets, then the bat,” Billy said. He made a face, grabbing the trash bin to throw away all the spent tissues and stacked the magazines on Steve’s desk.

“Mmm...no, fuck…” Steve said. “Demo...dogs...monsters…”

“No, no,” Billy said. “No monsters. It’s just me.” He bit his lip and allowed himself to caress Steve’s sweaty forehead for a just a second.

“Billy?” Steve said, looking at him with bleary eyes.

_Shit_ , Billy thought. He wanted to tell himself this was a stupid waste of his time. Steve wasn’t supposed to mean anything, Steve _couldn’t_ because Billy had always planned on running from Hawkins as fast as possible but-  
“Billy?” Steve said again.

“Yeah.”

“Oh...”

“Dude, you’re a mess,” Billy said. He pulled up the sheets and comforter and covered Steve. The bat might be tricky. Billy sat on the bed and patted Steve’s shoulder, feeling ridiculous. “Ah...hey. You wanna let go of the bat?”

“Mm...monsters.” Steve gripped the bat a little tighter. A couple nails had already punctured his pillow. He was definitely going to fuck up his own face if he wasn’t careful.

“Man, you’re out of it,” Billy said, sighing. “There are no monsters, okay? Just me. I know I act like one sometimes-”

“Billy...be careful…” Steve frowned up at him. “Please. The monsters…”

“Goddammit.” He stroked Steve’s hair and he whimpered. “Hey. You’re all fucked up and sick. There aren’t any demodogs or anything. If there are, I’m gonna take care of em’ for you. So just….let go of the bat, sweetheart.” He winced at himself. He’d never called Steve anything like “sweetheart” before.

“Billy?” Steve blinked at him, his gaze a little clearer. He smiled slowly. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.” Billy ran a thumb along Steve’s pale cheek, unable to help himself. “I’m here.”

“Missed you all day,” Steve said, his voice ragged.

Billy’s heart galloped and he said, “Missed you too.”

“I’m really cold.” Steve frowned, burrowing under the covers, but mercifully he let go of his bat and Billy swiped it and stood to stash it in the closet, nearly stepping in the barf.

“I barfed,” Steve murmured. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.”

Billy looked down at Steve, weaker and more vulnerable than Billy had ever seen him and thought: _I am so fucked._

In the hallway he found the Harrington’s linen closet and grabbed more blankets that he covered Steve with until the shivering stopped. He found cleaning stuff downstairs and went to work on the puddle, shaking his head the entire time.

“I am cleaning up your puke,” Billy said after getting the bulk of it up with paper towels and tossing it. “You fucking asshole. I fucking hate you. I am cleaning up your _puke_. I am wearing _rubber gloves_.”

He glared at Steve who blinked at him, barely visible under his covers. “Be careful,” Steve said, and whined a little.

“Pft. Too late for that shit, pretty boy,” Billy said with a snort. “I _love_ you, dickhead. When the hell did that happen? I’m gonna _kill_ you for this.” He sat back on his heels and frowned at Steve looking sleepy and confused and pale and sweaty. “Dick,” Billy said.

“Mmm, sorry,” Steve said.

“Nah.” Billy sighed. “You didn’t do anything. You dick.”

The spot on the carpet was almost gone and Billy took off the rubber gloves and replaced the trash bag with a fresh one. He cleared away the empty glasses and brought Steve a can of ginger ale from the kitchen because that was good for an upset stomach but brought up some saltine crackers too in case he was up for them. He straightened up the meds and threw Steve’s dirty laundry in his hamper and when there was nothing left to do he turned the TV onto some crap and kicked off his shoes and sat atop the covers next to Steve who rolled over to look at him.

“Billy.” Steve smiled up at him. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, chuckling. “Been here for an hour.”

“Are you taking care of me?” Steve said, furrowing his brow.

“Sure looks like it.” He wasn’t even smoking. He thought it was probably not great to smoke around a sick person.

“That’s not like you,” Steve said.

“Yeah.” Billy chewed the inside of his lip. There was no guarantee that Steve returned his feelings. He’d anchored himself to this shit now. “I’m so screwed.”

But then Steve curled up against him and rested an arm on his chest. “Hmm. I love Billy.”

Billy felt every muscle unclench, relief washing over him. “Yeah?” Billy said, and rubbed Steve’s back until he was all but purring.

“Mmm. That feels nice… Yeah, don’t tell him.”

“Okay,” Billy said, settling down to lie there with Steve because it was Friday night and he had nowhere better to be and that was just fine with him. “I won’t.”


End file.
